


Constant in Happiness

by Winoniel



Category: The Administration - Manna Francis
Genre: BDSM Scene, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8882233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/pseuds/Winoniel
Summary: “They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom.”  ConfuciusToreth contemplates the ways in which he's changed since he embarked on his relationship with Warrick.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [civilsmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/civilsmile/gifts).



> Dear civilsmile, I hope that this makes your Yuletide gay!

Toreth was drinking a coffee after a steak dinner that he was sure had equaled his weekly salary. He watched, bemused, as Warrick finished up a confection that looked so sugary Toreth’s teeth ached. The only thing that kept him from mentioning it was that Warrick’s face was tight and his eyes kept straying to a point over Toreth’s left shoulder. It had been going on for long enough that Toreth was growing suspicious.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“There is a woman at a table over by the wall who has been sneaking peeks at you all evening. I originally thought it was one of the statistically overwhelming part of the population with whom you’ve been intimate. However, I’ve noted that even across the room, there is something vaguely familiar about her, and I’ve been trying to place it.”

Toreth glanced back, saw the woman, and immediately stood up. “I’m going back to the flat. I’ll see you there.”

A hand snaked out and caught his forearm before he could escape. “Is there something I should know?” Warrick asked quietly.

“No, just—” Toreth struggled to keep the fury from his voice. “It’s just someone I have no intention of talking with ever again. So, let… me... go,” he said as clearly as he could between gritted teeth. He snatched his arm from Warrick’s grip, and turned directly into he face of his mother.

“Toreth,” she said, her voice stony. “I see you are well.”

Toreth felt a rush of ferocity and turmoil engulfing him. It felt good, and if he weren’t in a restaurant that Warrick frequented with clients, he would allow himself a moment to toy with the woman. However, knowing how bitchily tedious Warrick could be about public displays, he reined in his temper, closing his eyes and slowly compressing the sick, hot column of anger roiling in his gut.

Opening his eyes, he felt them go blank and his throat tighten, staring at the woman for a moment, then he walked away.

“Toreth!” Warrick hissed after him, quite obviously mindful of the other diners and the woman left standing by their table. Toreth ignored them all, allowing the expensively plated glass door to cut off the sounds from the restaurant.

Too agitated to try to call and program a taxi, he began walking down the street, heedless to the surroundings. His pace was so quick that he was actually surprised when Warrick caught up with him, though the way the other man huffed made him smile. 

“You really should get to the gym more,” he said. “I’m not walking that fast and we’ve only gone about a block.”

“Well, before I dashed out in the street and made a guess at which direction you’d taken, I had to apologize to that woman and call someone over to charge the meal. You can’t imagine how stuffy they get when someone just walks out without paying—” Warrick had finally realized that Toreth had stopped a few paces back and was staring at him. He came to a halt himself and turned. 

“You apologized to her.”

Warrick stilled, recognizing a looming crevasse even if he didn’t understand where or why. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what your history was with her and—”

“Never mind,” Toreth said quietly, his voice emotionless. “Let’s just go back to the flat, hmmm?”

In the car, with Warrick casting surreptitious glances in his direction, Toreth said nothing. He was genuinely surprised at the level of emotion that arose when he saw his mother. He knew he’d barely given her much thought, even with the contact she’d attempted to make after the revolt.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to work to forget his childhood or the horror of being caught in the swift-running water with Aaron. He wouldn’t even be able to note what his brother looked like if an IIP depended on it, and he honestly didn’t remember what had happened to his brother at all during the accident. So why was that period so shrouded in sullenness and hurt and despair? 

He wondered if he’d even felt those emotions at the time. It was almost like it happened to a different person, who had told him the whole story enough times that he could reduplicate the situations. If he wanted, he could remember details clearly, could almost recite them with a somewhat less than dispassionate composure. His feelings about what he’d done, what had happened to him, they all seemed flat and still. It was only now that he’d spent so much time with Sara and Warrick that he recognized the extent what had happened. It was only now that he could sense the bitter acrimony that had been pent up behind walls so thick he’d not even known there was anything on the other side of them.

Were they rubbing off on him? He’d noticed that when he wanted, it was much easier to behave in ways that made them feel comfortable and special. His training had already equipped him to notice the quick blink in the eyes, the tightened knuckles on flatware, or the involuntary twitches that gave him a clue as to their thinking, even if he couldn’t imagine why they would react that way. Now, he found he didn’t have to rely on clues as much. It was more a matter of if he _wanted_ to play their game, rather than if he knew _how_ to play it. It made life so much easier.

But, was this the disadvantage of allowing himself to feel something other than lust, annoyance, pride, anger, or self-satisfaction? His life had been easier when he just had his pick-ups, people that at the most he might fuck twice, but never more than that. Easier when he didn’t have someone with whom he lived, someone whose feelings he actual thought about before he was casually cruel. Easier when he could just string Sara along, charming her like he did the other admins, before he—Toreth swallowed. Before he… cared.

They were still a ways from the flat. He didn’t turn to Warrick, but he spoke, words soft and intense, barely stopping to breathe, because if he was interrupted, he was sure he would not continue.

“I know it’s difficult to imagine but I was a problem kid. My mother dragged me to shrink after shrink, especially after my brother died. We had fallen into a river that had been swollen with rain and got caught up in the current. A woman jumped in and saved me but Aaron was swept away and his body wasn’t found for two days. My mother was convinced that I’d killed him—pushed him in. Fuck, I may have—At any rate, she, and to a lesser extent, my father, have detested me ever since. Funny thing, their behavior never changed. They were cold and hateful before the Aaron died and they were the exact same afterwards. Supposedly, according to her—it was because I was cold and hateful first…” Toreth stopped.

There was silence in the car, and waiting for Warrick’s reaction, Toreth’s stomach began to clench, though he didn’t know why. Was he afraid of sympathy or pity? Or was he afraid that finally Warrick would know exactly what his Psych file meant? This feeing of excruciating unknowing, is this what everyone else felt all the time? If it was, they could have it. Toreth would happily go back to his sociopathic uncaring. At least, being inhuman meant he didn’t have to wonder or worry about others.

“So, to be clear,” Warrick began slowly. “That woman was…”

“Oh shit, sorry,” Toreth sputtered, barking out a bitter laugh, “That was Glynis, my mother.”

“Ah,” Warrick said. “Do you want to talk more about her?”

“Hell, no,” Toreth muttered.

“Good, because I don’t care what type of fucked-up childhood you had.” 

Toreth wasn’t totally convinced. Warrick was over-articulating his words, his face pale with what Toreth presumed was anger. But at least, he didn’t seem to be angry with Toreth, so that was a plus.

“What I care about is who you are, and what you are now.”

Well, that wasn’t as comforting as it could be, as Toreth knew for a fact that he could be quite the shit, given half a mind. However, Warrick moved closer in the car and turned Toreth to look at him. 

“What I care about is how much I need and want you. What I care about is how well you know me and what I need and how willing you are to give that to me. How much you enjoy giving that to me. How much I want you to fuck me, to blindfold me, tie me up, and hurt me, and whisper all of the things that you will do to me that I want and need."

Toreth’s stomach began to seize again, but from a more delicious, richly curling tension. As he listened, he stared at Warrick, those lips telling Toreth how much power he had over the other man, how vulnerable Warrick was with him, how much Warrick trusted him with his body and feelings.

“I care about how much I need to kneel before you and let you fuck my mouth. I care about how much I want your cock in my mouth and my arse, and how I can’t see or move without your permission. I care about how much you can make me beg and give myself totally to you.”

The car came to a halt in front of their building. 

Warrick and Toreth went in. Toreth gave Warrick what he wanted and needed, and that giving was what Toreth wanted and needed. 

Afterwards, lying in bed, they would normally meet by accident right in the middle, and also by accident, Warrick would put his arm around Toreth. Tonight, however, while Warrick was still gasping in the aftershocks of his screaming orgasm, Toreth turned to him, and pulled his back firmly against Toreth’s chest, his softening cock resting gently against Warrick’s buttocks. Tucking his chin into the crook of Warrick’s neck, Toreth realized that he didn’t have to pretend. At least for tonight.


End file.
